Alternate Reality
by Fizz the Great
Summary: What if Mary never went to save Sherlock when he was about to get shot? An alternative reality where Sherlock got shot instead. May contain spoilers for Season 4 episode 1.


"Sherlock!"

Just one word. A name. His name. Echoing in his head, calling for him. Who is calling for him?

"Sherlock!"

John. John Watson his best friend. His only friend. John Hamish Watson. Calling his name. Why is he calling his name?

He tries to rewind his memory. There was a woman. Small and petite, with graying hair and a purple cardigan, holding a gun. What is her name again? Oh, Vivian. Vivian Norbury. The woman who whispered 'amo'. The traitor. She was holding a gun while he made his deductions.

And then… it all ended with a surprise.

A blast of colors and fire. The black curtain falls. He sense himself stumbling. People shouting his name but he only hears one.

"Sherlock!"

John is calling for him. His eyes fly open. John, John Watson, his best friend, his only friend, is looking at him, face full of worry. Voices swim in his head as he struggle to tell which is reality and which is just a figment of his imagination. A stab of pain near his abdomen drags him back into reality. He wakes with a gasp of pain.

"Sherlock!" John is there, holding his hands. "Sherlock, stay with me. Stay with me!"

"John," it is all he could manage to gasp out. The pain is so blinding, he couldn't focus, it's too hard, the blinking lights are him threatening to pull him back to sleep.

"Don't worry, don't worry,"

"Oh come on, you're a doctor, you can do better than that," he says through clenched teeth. John's hand pushes further into his wound, trying to stop the blood flow. A sound escapes him.

"Sherlock,"

"Argh!" The pain. He couldn't stop it, couldn't control it, why is he so weak?

Focus!

"Sherlock, come on, stay with me!" John. There's only John, he wonderfully loyal John, still there, watching over him. Noises of people bustling around was lowered to a silent scene in a movie.

"John…" his words came in short gasps, "I'm-sorry,"

"No, no, no, please Sherlock, this is not the end, i-it cannot be. That's…" he trails off.

"Thank. You, John…"

"No, Sherlock, please you can't,"

"I-I've never, meet someone… like you, before," every word hurts yet he goes on. "Thank, you. For-coming into… my life," he winces and takes a struggling breath. It hurts. It hurts so much, everything hurts.

"No…no," John shakes his head, trying to convince himself. He gives a short laugh but Sherlock could tell he's afraid.

"John-"

"Shh, shh, Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock, you little bastard," he whispers. Sherlock tries his best to smile.

"John-" he wants to spend the last seconds of his life saying his name. His best friend's name.

John.

Wonderful and loyal John.

His best friend. The man he'll never forget. The man he'll die for.

"Mary-" Mary is suddenly next to him, holding his hand, gently shaking him, striving not to let him sleep it off.

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Mary, I like, you… did you know that?"

There is a moment of hesitation before she says, "Yes, Sherlock. I knew that all along,"

"Well, looks like we're-never. Even." He manages a smile through all the pain. "I forgive, you. For shooting me."

Mary shakes her head, "No…I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"Look. After John, for me would you? Please." He looks up at Mary and she nods in affirmative.

"I will," she says softly.

"Sherlock," John grabs his hands and hold's him to chest. "Sherlock. Take it easy. Please,"

He takes another breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mycroft. Mycroft is looking at him. Mycroft knows it's the end. He knows it's time to let go.

Each second of staying awake seems harder now. It's more tiring, more exhausting to keep his eyes open. His friend, John Watson, is still holding his hand, whispering his name over and over again.

"John-," he still wants to hold on. Hold on to his friend, his only friend, and never let go.

"Sherlock,"

"You, are everything to me." The colors are starting to fade to gray now. "Thank you, for being my friend, and making my life… worth, living…"

John just stares. He stares and stares and stares as the stars blink out.

"Thank you John Hamish Watson…" he feels the words grace his lips as he breathes his last breath. And then…nothing.

Just pure blinding white all around him, enveloping him into an unknown world. It felt like he is swimming in water, his movements sluggish and unresponsive.

"Sherlock?" An echo of a voice. It wasn't John this time. It was someone much younger.

"Sherlock get back here," he turns around. Small rocks and pebbles roll down from the mount he was standing on.

"Mycroft, I told you not to follow me here!" He moans, making a face. Redbeard sniffs his yellow rain-boots, staying close by.

"Well, I couldn't afford losing you or else Mummy will have my head for sure," he says. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Searching for treasure," he shrugs as if there is nothing more obvious than that. He adjusts his pirate hat before running off.

"You'll never catch me!" He yells, laughing. Redbeard lets out a bark and bounds after him.

"Get back here!" Mycroft calls but there is a tint of playfulness in his voice. Red boots dig into pebbles, pursuing the little boy in the yellow raincoat, pirate hat still stuck on his head like part of him. Laughter resonates in the memory as they chase each other around, jumping, yelling, singing.

Running, far, far away, until they disappear.


End file.
